


love me, love me (not)

by stickystarstuck



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickystarstuck/pseuds/stickystarstuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur knows all the ways he should feel about magic. When he finds out about Merlin, he settles comfortably with appreciation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love me, love me (not)

When Arthur finds out about Merlin's magic, a slow comprehension followed by an earnest confession, he is only aware of what he should be feeling. 

Under his full title, Crown Prince of Camelot, Arthur knows he must feel the burn of betrayal, anger searing right to his bones. Arthur knows the deception is punishable by death, Merlin's neck upon the block or tied to the pyre, ready for the end. Duty bound to expose Merlin for the liar he is, for the evil intentions that he harboured as all magic users have, Arthur should have detained him, chained his hands and feet in iron, carted him to the prisons while he informed his father to let the proceedings begin, cruel and just about imaginable tortures for the treachery. 

As Arthur, the man, Arthur knows that a fierce protectiveness should swell in his chest. He should get Merlin to somewhere safe, somewhere that isn't Camelot, somewhere Merlin can be his careless self freely, even if Arthur is not there to personally oversee it. If he rushed, Arthur reckons Merlin could be back in Ealdor before the week is up, safe with his mother instead of the lions’ den his father created. 

However, though Arthur knows of these reactions, he feels neither of these things and instead, takes to watching Merlin busy himself in his chambers, carrying armour and picking up clothes, dusting the table and straightening books. 

Arthur settles comfortably with appreciation. 

* 

Arthur thinks about it some more, considers all the events, all the little things concerning Merlin, from their escapades, their routine, and slowly the anomalies that he has overlooked come to light and fill themselves with Merlin's magic, a seamless fit, stitching the memories together with sparks of a power he hadn't even known to be around him. 

There is more to the stories, perhaps, Arthur is almost sure of it, for if Merlin can conceal himself right under Arthur's nose, then why not keep on hiding in Arthur's every breath, under his skin, deep in his lungs. Arthur's mind wonders upon the ways Merlin's magic peppers him in safety before any evidence of it is quickly blown away in the wind. Merlin has kept it secret and Arthur knows his reasons are valid so he accepts the omission of knowing, he is more concerned with the debt that he must have accumulated. If anything, Arthur is fair, intends to be so when he is king, has internalised his dislike for all the unjust inflicted upon innocents who are simply born into it with little to no escape. 

He has learnt this well, proof of it currently making his bed, humming cheerily tunes from last night's feast. Coming from Merlin, the melody is thin and a little jauntier than it was from instruments, but Arthur can't help but enjoy it more as it is a performance for him alone. There are many things that Merlin does that are only for Arthur; the problem is Arthur doesn't exactly know what they are. 

"Did you want something different for breakfast?" Merlin plumps a pillow against his chest, nodding towards the untouched plate before Arthur. "I'm sure I could find some leftovers from last night, if you prefer." 

"Merlin, come sit with me a while," Arthur kicks out a chair and Merlin cautiously turns towards it, taking the pillow with him, clutched tighter as if some kind of shield. 

"What did I do wrong now? It's something _really_ particular, isn't it? It must be because I haven't broken anything recently. I've been really careful." 

Arthur fights back the urge to bark a laugh, only realising how easy Merlin has made it for him to be lifted momentarily in amusement. Arthur pats the chair (hopefully invitingly) and Merlin reluctantly sits upon it. 

"Relax, will you?" Merlin slumps slightly, not quite what Arthur was thinking but good enough. "Have some fruit." 

"All right," Merlin reaches out to the bowl and picks some grapes, keeps one on the inside of his cheek as he speaks, rounding his face. "Is there anything you need?" 

Arthur contemplates confessing that he doesn't like to be in debt and would like repay it, it hurts his pride that he owes Merlin so much but he knows Merlin well enough to say nothing for he'll know how Merlin will interpret that. Merlin will think that Arthur's distaste is because of the gap in status between them and then he'll yell that they are equals in every capacity that matters and his face will flush with colour. Arthur debates whether it's because Merlin's embarrassment arises as he realises he speaks out of turn or from the fact that he's exhausted himself of air from doing so. It is probably the latter, Arthur muses. Merlin frowns as he spits up a seed. 

"Sorry," Merlin is somewhat bashful as he puts the seed on a spare saucer. "Thought they might be seedless." 

"Why would you think that?" 

Merlin shrugs, breaks another grape in half between his fingers, "It seems like a very royal thing, having people remove seeds and pips and stones from fruit before you get it." 

Arthur chuckles to himself, trying to picture what goes on in Merlin's head, "And just who would do that for me?" 

"Kitchen maids? Me, maybe?" 

"Rest assured, Merlin," Arthur begins to join him, reaching towards the table and breaking a branch of the bunch. "I won't be making anyone remove seeds for me when I'm capable of it myself." 

* 

"You're acting strange," Merlin notes out loud the following morning. 

Arthur shakes his head, "No, I'm not. Besides, I'm allowed to act however I wish." 

Merlin peers down at the proffered plate of not only de-seeded but pre-peeled grapes; Arthur feels particularly proud of his accomplishment. 

Arthur smiles to himself and pretends not to notice when Merlin happily pops a few in his mouth. 

* 

Occasionally, Arthur does take an active interest in the process of Merlin's duties and not just their results. With magic coming into play, Arthur can't help but wonder how it all must work. 

"Show me," Arthur keeps his voice delicate, hopes to bait Merlin gently. 

"Show you what, Arthur?" 

"How you do things." 

Merlin scrunches his face, in pensive thought—Arthur likes to presume—and he makes a low grumbling sound as he internally debates what to do. Meanwhile, Arthur watches patiently enjoying the disgruntled faces Merlin makes before he settles on his usual curve of the lips. 

* 

Arthur tries his hardest not to be perturbed by the fact that his armour hangs mid-air singularly, cleaning themselves with brushes and cloths while Merlin squats on the floor with Arthur's sword, polishing it by hand. 

"What do you do to make it do… _that_?" Arthur flaps his hand, probably the most inelegant fashion he had procured in a while. "Do you say or think up words?" 

Merlin smiles, tells him it's simply instinct, and Arthur must agree for many things concerning Merlin is instinct. From the way his feelings form and flash on his face, how his movements are rarely hesitant, how his words are never quite thought through, not when he's caught unawares. Perhaps, Arthur should rethink that, considering how well Merlin has kept his cover. 

"Does it require a lot of effort?" Arthur deems that the armour is safely stable and goes to inspect it, half-expecting there to be a more logical reason (such as wires of some sort) for them being held up. 

"Not particularly," Merlin continues polishing, great long motions against the blade. 

"Could you not magic them clean at once?" 

"That's a bit more tricky," Merlin hums, recalls why he doesn't do that in the first place. "More variables to it. It's likely to go wrong. Not that I've tried. Or anything." 

Arthur draws to the conclusion that Merlin has indeed attempted it which is probably the reason why he can't find the vembrance he received from his tourney seven months ago. Due to the fact that it was ill fitting, Arthur is willing to forgive its disappearance, thinking it for the best since he was not likely to use it in any battle which he would want to win. 

The usual lack of concentration Merlin displays appears once more when his hand slips, fingers slicing against the blade. Merlin curses beneath his breath, harsh intakes of air rushing between his teeth. 

"Shit, I'm sorry," Merlin says, blood trickling over his fingers, upon the glint. "I'll clean up." 

"For goodness' sakes, Merlin," Arthur bites, grabs an untarnished cleaning cloth and binds Merlin's fingers, minding the blood diffusing a bright red. 

"I'll be all right in a minute," Merlin smiles meekly and as Arthur grasps Merlin's hands, cupping them tightly to stem the bleeding, they glow like gold reflecting off the sun. "See?" 

When Arthur unravels them, freeing Merlin's fingers, they wiggle before his eyes, unmarred and perfect. "Magic," Arthur breathes, no real meaning in it. 

"Magic," Merlin repeats with a quaint nod of the head. 

* 

Arthur slaps a pair of gloves in front of Merlin as he's having dinner in Gaius's chambers. Merlin looks up from the bowl of what appears to be chicken soup and says, "Are you issuing me a challenge?" 

"No, they're for you."

Merlin looks down at his hands a moment, turns them over before turning to face Arthur, face entirely quizzical.

"For you to wear when you do your duties," Arthur sighs, he hadn't thought he would need to spell out precisely what he meant. Upon further consideration, Arthur determines that all facets of this conversation are redundant; Merlin clearly doesn't require gloves for his duties and the things Arthur attempts to state clearly are not the things he means to say at all.

*

Arthur can recall a time where frivolousness was a fairly abstract concept.

Currently, in his hand he holds an extensive catalogue of all the decorations, food and other various arrangements that need to be paid for the banquet his father has ordered. Though he has held such papers before, he had never thought them to be as utterly, superfluously _needless_.

Previously, he would have gazed upon such items with glee and anticipation but all he could think of is the waste that would come from it. The feast is not designed to impress foreign dignitaries, it is purely an affair of self-congratulation on his father's part, there really is no need to commission so many banners and drapes and clothing for such an occasion. The coins on his desk, arranged into small columns, are finally ready to be distributed by the time Merlin arrives with luncheon.

"How is everything?"

"Fine," Arthur huffs in response and upon inhaling can taste the acidity in the air. "Pickled eggs?"

"I brought all your favourite foods, the ones I could find anyway. I thought it might cheer you up."

It is a strange leap in logic but Arthur could see how Merlin would get there.

"It's the thought that counts, I suppose," Arthur finds a smile make its way onto his lips and he motions for Merlin to bring the tray closer.

These days, Merlin draws up a chair to join Arthur in dining when they are alone. Arthur thought to comment on it once but Merlin had started to do something so innocuously distracting (talking) that he could not think of possibly eating by himself in his chambers, Merlin either standing by or elsewhere doing chores.

"Remember when I first started serving you?"

"Yes, you kept stealing off my plate."

Merlin laughs heartily at the memory, his eyes crinkled and his smile sweet, "I had a bruise on the back of my hand for a fortnight from where you kept batting it away."

"Well, you wouldn't learn not to pilfer."

"That's not true, I think you just learnt how to share better."

And to prove his point, Merlin swipes a honey slathered slice of bread with not a complaint from Arthur.

*

Dressed in his casual clothing, Arthur heads down to the kitchens with a parchment in hand and Merlin at heel.

Arthur continues to walk while Merlin asks where they are headed, his practiced strides setting a pace Merlin occasionally has to jog to catch up to. In all honesty, Arthur would rather carry out this particular venture alone but Merlin hovers and chirrups around like a delighted bird at daybreak.

When they finally reach the kitchens, Arthur does his best to pretend that he cannot see Merlin gaping at him in the corner of his eye. He reasons that his plans to redistribute whatever edible leftovers remain from last night's feast will relieve the support required of the grain stores in the short term, a sensible decision that doesn't require Merlin to look so utterly shocked. It is a little insulting how aghast Merlin appears, especially as he makes a deliberate point of telling Arthur what a wonderful king he will be.

"That was a nice thing you did there," Merlin ventures as they make their way back to Arthur's chambers.

"The pigs can make do with ordinary slop for the next few days, don't want to spoil them." Arthur inhales stiffly, a technique he was taught to bring an air of haughtiness to a conversation to cover occasions of embarrassment.

*

They appear to play a game, one where the rules are set out and the moves are predetermined. There is no meaning to being the victor because all too soon they begin again in a contest to save each other’s life. They venture out to take care of dangerous bandits, evil sorcerers (just the evil ones) and destructive magical creatures. They start to get reckless. They start going further with their sacrifices and though Arthur knows it’s stupid to take the risks, there’s an exhilaration to making it out alive.

There is a time where they have to jump down a waterfall to escape a swarm of fanged beasts. All it took was a look to discuss it. They grip each other by the arm, a firm grasp so they won’t be parted as they take the plunge. It’s icy cold and even when they surface they are taking a beating from the water streaming down above.

Merlin sputters out the water (more like coughs it out) and Arthur holds onto his arm as he tries to get them back to land. It’s not too far but the chainmail is heavy and Merlin’s yet to orient himself. Soon Arthur can feel ground under his toes and he can stop swimming and start walking; Merlin follows along obediently, lets himself be led as he wipes his eyes and tugs his neckerchief off.

Arthur just about gets his breath back when they make it to shore.

“I can’t believe we made it.” Merlin laughs, it makes his eyes crinkle and his voice is clear to Arthur’s ears over the gushing water.

It makes Arthur’s heart clench and he can’t help but reach out. Merlin turns to him easily, he settles into a smile and Arthur can hardly believe that it’s meant for him. He touches Merlin’s face and is relieved when Merlin moves closer.

Arthur thinks this is could be the moment.

If it all goes wrong then he can claim the rush of the near death experience went to his head. There have been worse embarrassments he’s managed to brush over.

A step. Water droplets run down. Arthur can feel them on back of his neck, can see them slide down Merlin’s cheeks. Arthur’s visions blurs for a second, a couple of blinks to get the sting out of his eyes, and when it’s clear he sees Merlin’s eyelashes, feels the odd cold-warm, clammy press of a kiss.

Arthur returns it, of course. He wrenches his gloves off quick as he can, tossing them aside, without parting from Merlin’s lips and relishes the touch of Merlin’s skin. He cups Merlin’s neck and feels the wet silk of Merlin’s hair at his nape, his thumb runs across Merlin’s jaw and there’s the coarse start of stubble. The kiss is somewhat slow and languid, Arthur responds in kind as there is no indication that Merlin intends to pull away.

In truth, it tastes bad. It’s inevitable that some trace of lake water would remain and it’s a muddy sort of bitter that Arthur hopes will fade soon. Despite the weight of soppy wet clothes, Arthur feels the ache in his chest loosen and he knows so long as Merlin keeps kissing him he’ll keep feeling the relief. The realisation that whatever had been between them is now tangible, is something within his reach, delights him to the point where he thinks he may fumble over his words if Merlin asks him to say something.

Instead he allows himself to have the moment. Merlin has his dopey smile and after a while, Arthur thinks that perhaps he’s returning it when his cheeks start to feel sore.


End file.
